Unholy Fantasies
I could feel his presence at my back—tall, warm, the faint rustle of his cassock as he moved closer.
I kept reading, line after line about denying the body, about offering suffering to God, about the dangers of self-indulgence. My voice shook on the parts about “touching oneself in secret” and “fantasies that defile the soul.” By the time I reached the end of the first page I was breathing faster, nipples tight against my dress, the ache between my legs worse than it had been all day.
Father Chris stepped around the table so I could see him. He leaned down, one hand resting on the open book, the other hanging loose at his side. His eyes locked on mine.
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